





^wi^ Li ^^^ 






SUBLIME 
BEAUTIFUL 



I LOVE I 



Passion 
Poems 



A 

Short 
Comedy 



Walter 
Smith 
Griffith 



r 



..^ 



THt LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 


Two Copies 


Received 


m 21 


1903 


Copyright 


Entry 


CLASS C^ 


XXc. No. 


COPY 


/^ 
^-. -— 



.1? W^ ^ ^ 



Copyright { 1902 ) by Walter Smith Griffith. 
All rights reserved. 



Press of 
cc jce, c F.rajigis,i;..yVilliams. 



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Celestial Ch-imes 

When trodden by a secret woe, 

I chanced to break the spell — 
The tinkling note of Nature's bell 
Broke in upon my musing, 
The sorrow drear confusing — 

The golden notes pealed forth. 

I seemed to hear the babl^ling brook, 
The nightingale's soft note. 
From woodland's golden throat, 

And o'er the muse came stealing 
The ring of choirs appealing 

Their strains from saintly hosts. 

I dreamed of rapture in the spell 
Of tones so rarely sweet, 
Where years too quickly meet, 

And to my soul came longing 
To hear again the thronging 

Of thoughts the bell brought forth. 

To fancy that I roamed afar 

Where peace and plenty throve, 
Within a sylvan grove ; 

To hear the golden ringing. 
And brown eyes softly gleaming 
With beams of purest love. 

And when the chimes enhance the charms 
Of lovely form and face, 
Bespeaking Nature's grace. 

Then tripping to the measure 

I find the heart's rare treasure 

Awaking hidden hymns. 



Look:! 

Look ! ye Christians, see the sign 
Flaming forth, a blazing tine — 

Christ is coming. 

From the Throne the Word is sent, 
For vile sin is nearly spent — 

Haste, ye knowing. 

Soon the dark will roll away, 
Glory in the Prince of Day ; 

God is mighty. 

Tear the bricks apart for bread. 
Dry the tears that many shed ; 

He was lowly. 

Flowing o'er is God's rich wealth, 
Hide ye not the cup with stealth — 
Give the blessing. 

As ye sow so shall ye reap, 
Gather not of leaves a heap — 

Curse'd treasure. 

Gabriel, blow your trumpet loud. 
Tear away this mortal shroud — 

Sound the finish. 



Dear Heart 

Pure must be my dearest heart 
Sure to be my better part, 
Bound to save from thoughtless smart 
Which can come from woman's dart — 
A rasping tongue. 

One I'll love all her sweet days — 
Down in depths of Life's wild maze, 
High o'er pelf that is man's craze, 
Sweet her worth, in age's haze, 
By poets sung. 

She who'll train our girls and boys 
For a life replete with joys, 
Caring naught for worldly cloys 
Making mortals weakest toys 

Of mocking taunts. 

Her I'll seek with courage rare, 
Knowing not how well I'll fare, 
Though my course no trumpets blare, 
Though the world may rudely stare 

From chosen haunts. 



An Easter Lily 

The angel hosts sing sweetest praise, 
Meek Christ, the Lord, is risen, 

And through His Blood from earth shall raise 
A ransomed host, rare given. 

And so the Christian should invite, 

Upon this Easter soaring, 
A lily fair and purely white 

To help his soul's adoring. 

For now, with thee, thou flow'ret fair. 

With heart so rarely golden, 
I'll wend my way through balmy air 

To where the feast is holden. 

May I and thee be ever true 

Unto the blessed Savior, 
Thou rarest flower beneath the blue, 

Thou love of sweet behavior. 



To My Lily. 

May you awake the sweet refrain 
Within the heart of loyal swain 

And grace his hearth. 

Thy brains were given thee to solve 
The secrets that the clay involve 
In every crisis. 



A ChLristma.s Wish. 

So live a life of purity 

And innocence 
That when the Master scans 
The page whereon the plans 

Of your life's story's written, 
The Savior's loving surety 
Will blot away all sin 
And for your spirit win 
Rare recompense. 

Destiny 

A crown of thorns 

Is every fate, 
No wisdom scorns 

Its given rate, 

But dares the test. 



Nly Heart 

I wish my heart to be of gold, 

To live alway within the fold 

Of God, the Good, the Wise, the Just, 

To raise above this mortal dust 

By mercy of the Savior. 

I wish my heart to be of gold, 
To save God's poor from heat and cold, 
To love the meek, to nurse the sick. 
To shield the weak from world's harsh kick 
Of lovelv, sweet behavior. 



I wish my heart to be of gold, 
Be alway sweet and never bold, 
The wonderment of all mankind, 
Of lofty aim and purest mind — 

The marvel of the women. 

I wish my heart to be of gold, 
To have the best that's ever sold. 
And yet to have so kind a heart 
That she will wish to share her part 

With all of God's relation. 

I wish my heart to be of gold, 
To ne'er to me seem cross or cold, 
To love her duty far too well 
To even listen to a spell 

Of worldly greed and slander. 

I wish my heart to be of gold. 

Be alway green and never old, 

Be alway full of gentle love. 

And be her husband's loving dove — 

The cherished of his bosom. 

I wish my heart to be of gold. 
To cherish all that's truly told. 
And throw away the jealous spite 
That brings the black of Satan's night; 

My heart must be a treasure. 

I wish my heart to be of gold, 
A woman fair, of noble mold, 
A loving wife, a truthful friend, 
A mother dear, whose noble end 

Is all for children's virtue. 



I know that mortal flesh is weak. 
But mercy's free to them who seek 
To earn a place within the way 
That marks the dawn of Virtue's day; 

My heart, so full of mercy. 

Then why should I, the weaker far 
Of all who walk this earthly star, 
Endeavor to direct the way 
Of all who walk within my day 

Into the Royal Kingdom? 

I love the just, the meek, the fair, 
The souls of those who wisely dare 
The shadows of the wily son, 
The one who found the weighty ton 

Of sin and sad perversion. 

I love the cause, I love the task, 
I love the souls of those who ask 
A road into the Kingdom Fair, 
Afar above the earthly air — 

A path into the Kingdom. 

I wish my heart to be of gold, 
To be a mother, fair as told 
Of all the souls of ancient lore. 
Of mothers dear, who nobly bore 

The trials of their offspring. 



A Hymn of Praise 

When God shall call for me to come 
Across the trackless blue, 

Should I bemoan the world's gay hum, 
Or friends, however true? 

The Savior's gentle voice doth plead 
For Virtue's golden way, 

He bore our sins, and our great need 
Is cleansing of our clay. 

Though you and I may fight along 

A narrow, sordid path. 
Our days and nights to him belong. 

Or else will come the wrath. 

The Truth is bound to win the fight. 
To win the Heavenly goal, 

It is the Word, our Father's might, 
The beauty of the soul. 

So I will choose the rocky right — 

The battle for the Gate 
Of Him, the only glorious Light 

Into the future state. 

Be good and wise and brave and just. 

That is the only Flag, 
Surmount the weakness of the dust, 

Give praise and never lag. 

May you, dear ones, outlive the strife 

Away from mortal sin. 
May you escape the dangers rife 

And Satan's direful din. 



IVIy Sweetest Love 

Two shyest eyes of sparkling brown 
Enthuse my Rosebud's face, 

Their love I asii for my rare crown, 
My life 'twill alway grace. 

Two rosy lips are petals rare 
In Cupid's precious prize, 

The glory of her crowning hair 
Enchants my love-lit eyes. 

Her winsome ways and loving smile 

I hope are all for me, 
And all ray time I'd fain beguile 

In her sweet company. 

I'd love to kiss her cherry lips 
When first her eyes awake, 

And kiss the drooping lids asleep 
When shadows us o'ertake. 

From early morn till day is done 
She is my loving thought, 

She is the star for all I've won, 

The good that I have wrought. 

Then why to me should you be coy, 

You are my better part, 
You are my hope, my pride, my joy. 

My own sweet Rosebud heart. 

Just whisper low, '' I love," sweet one, 
'Twill fill my soul with bliss. 

Then let us meet w^here none can come 
To break our nuptial kiss. 



I^ i 1 ^ .^ 



CHAPTER I. 



One bright June morning in 1854, two stalwart O'Tooles, 
eighteen, orphan twins, stretched their legs in Battery Park, New 
York City, after a long and stormy voyage from the City of Belfast. 

John, who was of a studious disposition, possessed an excel- 
lent education and readily found employment in a large notion 
house. His sauvity and agreeable personality brought him speedy 
recognition, and he rapidly advanced to a partnership in the firm, 
which, in the course of a few years after his admission to its coun- 
cils, in 1 861, became one of the most influential in the metropolis. 
Too close application to business sapped his vitality, and, in 1S85, 
a stroke of paralysis caused his death. His widow and children 
were unacquainted with business details, and strangers bought out 
their interest. 

Terry remained in the city, making a comfortable sum by 
manual labor, until he saw John comfortably settled. City life did 
not suit his temperament. Books had always been a bore to him. 
A jug of whisky, a clay pipe and a pretty girl to blarney suited 
him better. He had that ambition so dear to many of his country- 
men — a " bit " of land. He said good-bye and turned roving farm 
help. Wages were good, Jerry knew the value of a dollar and his 
savings grew rapidly. Working from place to place, he gradually 
drifted westward, always keeping a sharp lookout for a desirable 
spot in which to settle. Finally he drifted into Venango County, 
Pennsylvania. Land was cheap and the wild scenery exactly 
matched his ideal. A bargain was made, a shanty erected and 
Jerr}^ a landowner. Soon prospectors were interested in the region, 
and Jerry found profitableemployment as guide and general utility. 
Jerry learned their errand, and when they wished to buy his land 
refused to sell. They succeeded in purchasing other sites, however, 
and the wild days of oil-well shooting followed. The heaviest 
spouters were on Jerry's land. 

He became the leader of the wild, adventurous spirits that 
flocked to the region, and his cabin nightl3' resounded with the 
boisterous merriment incidental to camp life. Nor did he lose 
sight of the main chance. He was frugul and became a million- 
aire. No taint of aristocracy flowed through Jerry's veins. The 
humblest teamster was as welcome to his hospitality as the richest 



oil magnate. An old slouch hat, blue nainicl shirt, overalls and 
stout boots were made to answer for all occasions. The jug of 
potheen was always fvill, and the "byes" were welcome every 
evening to pass away the time at " fort3^-fives " or in listening to 
the musically inclined. 

CHAPTER II. 

In the dining-room of a cosy flat in the most aristocratic 
neighborhood of upper New York, a dainty morsel of femininity — 
large, lustrous brown eyes and golden hair, petite figure and aristo- 
cratic mold of countenance — glanced up from her position amid 
the sofa cushions at a tall, athletic man, whose blue eyes snapped 
as he excitedly strode to and fro. Her eyes were red with weeping, 
but the pouting lips gave evidence of indisposition to yield to the 
wishes to which he was giving vehement expression. Tight in her 
arms she lovingly held a pug of hideous mien. 

Ever}' article in the room bespoke taste of the highest cul- 
ture, with abundant riches to gratify the ambitions. 

They had finished their morning meal. The clock was 
chiming the hour of ten. 

It was a domestic jar of serious aspect between John O'Toole, 
Jr., eldest son of the deceased merchant prince, and his fashionable 
wife. The cause of the quarrel was the pug, which the lady insisted 
on treating the same as she would a child. John had viewed all 
this with displeasure, but made no decided objection until he was 
forced to eat his meals with the pug in a high chair at his side. 
This was more than he could stand. 

"May, I won't have that ugly pug of yours seated at the 
table with me," he said, angrily. "It's bad enough seeing you 
waste all your affection on the ugly beast, without being compelled 
to eat my food with it. I'm. the laughing stock of all the fellows 
at the club now, who are always asking, ' How's ma's bab}', John ? ' " 

" If I'd knov,'n you were such a brute I wouldn't have mar- 
ried you ! I'll — I'll go home — home " — and a storm of tears flowed. 

John dearly loved his wife, and her tears went to his heart, 
softening his anger into solicitous tenderness. Taking her in his 
arms, he soothingly kissed the tears av/ay. 

"Just have your own sweet wa}', lovey. Don't cry any 
more. I won't say anotlier word about the dog, if it grieves you, 
dear. There, now, kiss me, deary, as I must go downtown.'' 

After considerable billing and cooing (incidental, always, to 
reconciliations after domestic jars), John strolled away to his club 
and May and Lil went shopping. 

John was a briglit, brainy fellow, and a popular member 



(though non-active) of the New York Bar. Had his ftither lived, 
John would have undoubtedly before then been high in his pro- 
fession. The elder O'Toole had always been most severe in his 
denunciation of idlers. 

A fashionable wife and a snug income gave the ycu';g man 
ever}^ incentive to keep away from the vortex of moneymaking. 

As he entered the billiard room of the club someone shouted : 

'•Jack, old man, 'tis a rare treat to see you," and turned 
around to receive a warm handclasp from his college chum. Jack 
Ashland. 

" Why, Ash., wliere did you drop from ? I haven't seen or 
heard from you since graduation. You promised to write. Where 
have you been? Give an account, sir." 

"Just came in from the oil regions," answered Ashland. 
" Had wonderful luck down there. Bought a piece of land all the 
other fellows had overlooked. The soil was literally soaked with 
oil. Made a snug little pile, got tired of the hardships, sold out 
and here I am, looking for a more easy way to increase my bank 
account, and maybe get a share of the honors— sensational cases 
and politics, you know. So busy, couldn't write. Take a cue and 
we'll roll one or two," and he rambled along v>'ith stories of the oil 
region and its inhabitants. 

When Jack Ashland was around he generally monopolized 
the major share of the conversation. But his host of friends made 
no objection, for he was bright, cheery and witty, therefore a 
splendid entertainer. 

After awhile they wandered downstairs to the reading room. 

" Say, Jack, I ran across a queer old cuss down there," said 
Ashland, suddenly jumping from college reminiscences back to oil 
campaigning. "Same name as yourself, too, come to tliink of it. 
Wonder could he be a relative of 3'ours ? " 

" There is only one relative of ours in America that I know 
of — father's brother, my Uncle Jerry "— 

" The very party," broke in Ashland, excitedly. "That's 
his name, Jerry O'Toole. You want to cultivate his acquaintance 
right away ; he's worth millions." 

" It might not be the right party," said John, " and, if it is, 
I don't know whether he will want to acknowledge the relation- 
ship. Father never heard fnnn him after lie v/ent awa}- from New 
York. Besides," proudly, " I don't exactly like the idea of intrud- 
ing upon him just because he is ricli. I've money enough of my 
own. If he were poor, I might help him along. Rich or poor, I 
would not care to introduce him to my friends if he is queer." 

" Tut ! Tut ! old man. Don't get mad," laughingly replied 
Ashland. "Bet a dolhir to a cookv he's vour long-lost uncle. 



Never can have enough money. It isn't human. He can't write, 
and so you must excuse his not communicating on that ground. 
Besides, old man," placing his hand affectionately on John's 
shoulder, " no one thinks any more of you than I do, and I have 
been away tw^o years without sending yon a word. The conditions 
there are different. It's all work an.d hustle amid the wildest 
excitement." 

" I am not mad. Ash.," laughed John, somewhat mollified. 
"Tell me what he is like,'' 

" There isn't much to tell. His wells are the finest and he 
is very rich. He spends practically nothing, so why shouldn't he 
be. But he's the queerest old codger ^-ou ever saw, begging your 
pardon." 

" Don't apologize. Go on with the description.'' 

" There isn't much more. He dresses like a laboring man 
on all occasions, and says exactly what he thinks, no matter who 
it hurts, in the richest brogue you ever heard.'' 

CHAPTER III. 

While John and May were leisurely eating their breakfast 
the following morning they discussed the news of Uncle Jerry. 

John wished to let the matter remain as it was. 

May didn't much fancy exhibiting Uncle Jerry's queer ways 
to her circle, but — well, money covers many shortcomings. 

" What do you w-ant to have Uncle Jerry come here for?" 
demanded John, impatiently, when she made the suggestion. 
'' We don't need his money. We have plenty and to spare." 

" Yes, dear, but think what a swell we could cut with Uncle 
Jerry's millions — and ma's baby could have a gold collar," squeez- 
ing the pug lovingh'. 

John muttered something under his breath that sounded 
very much like " d ma's baby ! " 

"You mean thing! Swearing at my innocent darling. I 
know Uncle Jerry won't be so mean. I (sob) — I (sob) " — and a 
shower of tears, which were only stopped by his promise to let her 
have her own Avay. 

John betook himself to his favorite pastime — lounging in the 
club rooms — while May placed Lil on the sofa in front of her and 
penned the following effusive epi.stle to Uncle Jerry : 

New York, March 15, 1888. 
Darling Uncle Jehrt: 

John received information of your whereabouts from a college chum, 
and, as he is very bu33', asked me to write and beseech you to come and 
spend a vacation with us. John's father, your brother, died last year vei'y 



suddenly, but we will j^'ive you a most affectionate welcome, you dear old 
uncle, and I know we shall love you very much. I know you wiil just dote 
on ma's babj', Lil, though her pa is so cross with her. Come as soon as you 
can, as we are very anxious to see you. We all send love. 
From your affectionate niece, 

Mat Otole. 



Directions were inserted, the envelope sealed and the letter 
posted. 

CHAPTER IV. 

At the head of a rough pine table in his cabin on the north 
bluffs of Oil City, surrounded by a dozen jovial comrades, sat Jerry 
O' Toole'. It was a cloudy night, threatening a storm, but inside 
the structure all was jollity. The potheen jug was circling, and 
dense clouds of smoke from the pipes formed fantastic shapes. 

It was a typical camp scene — the flickering lights, greasy- 
clothed men and hearty good will displayed. 

Just as Jerr}' was roaring out " Kathleen Mavourneen " there 
came a thunderous rap on the door, silencing the singer, and in 
came a rollicking young Irishman, who tossed a dainty note to 
Jerry. 

It was the first letter he had ever received that was perfumed. 

" Phat's this ? " he inquired, handling the missive as though 
it were a hot potato, at which there was a roar of laughter. 

" Someone's sent you a love letter," suggested his lawyer. 

When the merriment called forth by this sally had somewhat 
subsided, he added, " Let me read it for you. " 

They all crowded round and attentively listened. 

" Wirra, wnrra," said Jerry, dolefully. "John is did," and 
the tears streamed down his rugged cheeks. After a few minutes 
of sad silent reflection he recovered himself and asked to have the 
letter read over again. 

" Do yez know th' place where they bees livin', Jim ? " lie 
asked, turning sharply upon his legal adviser. 

"Very well," was the answer. "My sister lives only a 
short distance from them. It is a high-toned neighborhood." 

" There's sassiety fer yez, byes," cried Jerry, smiting the 
table with his fist. " A fayther cross wid his own gossoon. Th' 
sinful cr'atur'. 01' Jerry's th' bye '11 stan' by th' young un. 

" Hev yez a bit o' paper?" to the lawyer. "Yis? Well, 
draw up me will, I'avin' th' whole uv me coin to Lil O'Toole, mc 
niece, an' God bliss her." 

The will was executed and many brimming glasses drained 
while celebrating the event. 



But Jerry worried over the matter. He pondered deepl)- 
upon the future welfare of his abused heiress, and finally decided 
to go to New York and give his undutiful nephew a "bit o" his 
moind." 

CHAPTER V 

Three weeks had passed without a reply from Oil City. It 
was a balmy evening in April, and they had decided to pass it away 
at the opera. 

May was talking baby talk to the pug, sitting in a high chair 
at the table, a napkin tucked under her silver collar, and snapping 
up the dainty tidbits which were placed on the plate before her. 
John had lit a cigar and was quietly smoking. 

"By the way, dear," he suddenly exclaimed, "have you 
received an answer to your letter to Uncle Jerry? " 

As if in reply to his question, in marched Uncle Jerry. 

" Where's me niece? " demanded Jerry. " Guv her intil me 
arrums ! A foine fayther yez be ! Shure, her Uncle Jerry '11 stan' 
by her. Me wliol' fortun' to her hev Oi med me mark to." 

John's look of surprise and May's consternation were fit 
subjects for an artist. 

But self-possession rarely deserts a society woman for any 
length of time. 

Uncle Jerry continued to berate John as fast as he could pour 
forth the words, despite May's efforts to soothe his temper. 

Finally the excited Celt was induced to sit down. 

" Order dinner for uncle, dear," sheiSaid. 

" Oi've hed me dinner ; Oi'll hev me sooper," 

"I don't understand," began John, somewhat nettled at 
what he considered an uncalled for tongue lashing — 

"Now. John, uncle is hungry. Please order him some 
food," and she coaxingly led him to the door and playfully pushed 
him out. 

Lil coolly eyed the visitor. 

Jerry had never seen a pug before, and viewed the snub- 
nosed creature with displeasure. He was eager for an objective 
j)oint for ridicule and directed his shafts at the pug. 

" Phat's th' dorg doin' there ? " he asked. " Oi 'spose yez 
hez th' baste to amoose me darlint. Phat an ugly mug," and he 
roared with laughter. 

Just then the waitress entered with his dinner. 

Jerry wanted to see his niece, and it took considerable coax- 
ing to get him to accept the explanation that she was away with 
her grandmother. Then he consented to eat. But he nearly drove 



May distracted with his questions as to the baby's age, appearance, 
size and weight. 

After pushing the last morsel on the table into his mouth 
with his knife, he demanded : 

*' Now, take ol' Jerry to th' gossoon." 

" Have a cigar first, uncle, and a glass of wine." 

" No, no," said Jerry, testily, rejecting the cigars and wine, 
" Oi want none o' yer woine an' fancy ciggarrus. Hev yez a sup 
o' th' rale Oirish jooce, Oi w'u'dn't nioind a thimbleful," and he 
lit his pipe and drank several glasses of the whisky that was pro- 
cured for him. 

John walked around the block and cogitated over the occur- 
rence. He shrewdly concluded that it was more trouble because 
of " ma's baby," and was rather cross when he came in. 

May gave him a pleading look and asked him to don evening 
dress and take Uncle Jerry to the theatre. Meanwhile Jerry was 
wandering around the apartment, sarcastically commenting on the 
rich furnishings, leaving a dense volume of smoke in his wake, 
solely interested in what he considered a needless waste of money. 

John frowningly hesitated. But he had learned that morn- 
ing of a sad financial calamity, which made it easier for him to 
play agreeable. 

After John had gone to prepare himself for the ordeal, she 
mentioned the proposed plan for his amusement to Uncle Jerry. 

Yes, he would like to go to the theatre, but preferred seeing 
his darling. Upon receiving the solemn assurance that it would be 
impossible that evening, he consented to go to the theatre. 

As John and Uncle Jerry were of nearly the same build, she 
next proposed that the oil magnate wear one of John's dress suitr.. 
He emphatically refused. 

" Me ol' cluz hez bin foine fixin's fer me these many years, 
an' Oi want no sicli togs. Shure, Oi'd fale loike Oi hed a dinny- 
moite catridge in me pocket. A swallytoil, indade ! " 

But May finally coaxed him to agree. 

John concluded that variety was what would please his uncle 
the most. 

Jerry was immensely taken with the varied performance and 
entered into the enjoyment with his whole heart. 

The middle of the program was reached with no other mis- 
hap than loud exclamations of approval from the Oil Cityite. 

Then a large, magnificently proportioned actress danced to 
the footlights and sang a popular comical song. The gallery gods 
became wildly enthusiastic, joining heartily in the chorus. Jerry 
caught the infection. Every time the chorus came he leaped to 
his feet with a whoop, swinging his arms wildly and roaring out 



the refrain in a tone which rose high above all the rest. Then 
John had his hands full. The gallery " gods " turned their atten- 
tion from the actress to Jerry. 

John succeeded in getting his uncle to the street after con- 
siderable trouble, heartily sick of his task, and with inclination to 
go home, but the storm of bankruptcy threatening to engulf his 
fortune forced him to renewed effort. So he started again on his 
mission as entertainer. They went the round of New York's Ten- 
derloin resorts. Under the mellowing influence of Irish potheen, 
Jerry was persuaded to try champagne, and John finally dragged 
him home in a condition of howling, fighting inebriety. 

Meantime, May had relieved her anxiety with tears. Then 
she banished Lil to the kitchen and set her woman's wit to the 
accomplishment of a solution. But the more she thought the more 
perplexed became the outlook. She also feared John's anger when 
she was compelled to explain how the mistake originated. 

After John succeeded in getting Uncle Jerry to bed, he came 
into his own apartment and cast himself dejectedly into a chair. 

"There, May," he said, with a nervous laugh, " now see 
what a scrape your pug has got us into. l^ncle Jerry has left his 
whole fortune to Lil. Just think of it ! The worst of it is that it 
looks very much as though we will lose all we have and be com- 
pelled to struggle for our bread. Uncle will be furious when he 
learns the truth and refuse to help us." 

" Be paupers ?" asked May, in a horrified whisper. "Has 
the railroad company failed? " 

" Got into a reconstruction muddle." 

Brave hearts beat strong in many dainty breasts, and she 
soothed him with words of cheer and promi.ses of helpful devotion. 

The blessed Angel of Sleep smiled lovingly down on two 
hearts drawn closer by grim adversity. 

The following morning Jerry was importunate in his demands 
to see his niece — his heiress. 

The task of explaining was taken out of their hands by the 
elder Mrs. Otole, who burst into the dining-room in a hysterical 
frenzy. She had learned the sad news of financial disaster. 

"There, now, I guess you'll sell your darling baby, Lil!" 
exclaimed the excited woman. " No more fancy silver collars 
now ! Oh, dear, good gracious me, to think I should come to this 
in my old age. It is a judgment sent on us ! The good Lord 
didn't mean for a beast to be treated like a blessed baby. It was a 
sorry day when you came into the family, bringing misfortune on 
us all with your molly-coddling of a dirty-faced pug ! " 

Upon Jerry dawned how he had been led astray, and he was 
furious with rage, excitedly giving expression to a flow of not very 



choice language. The elder woman shrieked, sobbed and moaned, 
May softly cried and John bit his lips. 

After Jerry had relieved himself of his indignation, he delib- 
erately kicked the yelping pug into the street. 

Then he came back, 

"Hould yer whist!" he roared. "Guv attintion to me. 
Phat's wrong besoide decavin' ol' Jerry intil I'avin' me fortune to 
th' ugly-mugged baste? " 

" Well, uncle," said John, grimly, "the railroad in which 
all our money was invested has gone into the hands of a receiver. 
You know what that means — we are practically penniless." 

" Phat be yer goin' to do?" with a shrewd glance from 
under the shaggy eyebrow's. 

" I am going into partnership with my old college chum, 
Jack Ashland, in the practice of law. We have secured several 
clients and are promised more. I told May about it last night and 
was going to break the news to mother this morning. We will not 
starve. So dry your eyes, my dear mother and deary," kissing 
them affectionately, " I will take good care of you." 

" Bully fer ye, me bye. Yer Uncle Jerry won't be hard on 
yez." 

* * -:r * * -x- * -x- 

When ITncle Jerry made another visit to New Y^ork, two 
years later, he had the pleasure of dancing his pretty little nephew, 
John Otole, Jr , on his knee. Jerry took great delight in singing 
" Kathleen Mavourneen " to the baby and telling him what a rich 
young man he would be. 



l^ove ^ 

Love is a realm of pure and devoted bliss, 
Clinging and swa3^ing souls in a throbbing kiss, 
Changing to soulful woman the thoughtless miss, 
Bower of flowers hiding no devil's hiss, 

No selfish thought. 

Child of the hidden e3'e of devotion rare, 
Born in this w^orld of want and dull toiling care, 
Pearl of the skies, how rich upon poorest fare, 
Swept by the fires of hellishly keenest tear 

By satan wrought. 

Life of a woman's soul when she harks to muse 
Borne to her being sweet, without satan' s ruse. 
Guide of the tiny babe upon Life's harsh cruise, 
Kindling and purging life with its rare enthuse, 

Its flashing rays. 

Hope of the manly brawn and the noble heart. 
Earthly desire and lust cannot hold thy mart, 
Spur to the drooping spirit, and smiting dart, 
Thrown, like a lightning's flash, upon sin's dread part. 

The dastard ways. 

Father and mother dear of transcendant flame, 
Spaik of the spirit world, beyond mortal claim. 
Endless and boundless theme of eternal fame. 
Theme of all lands wherein is admired thy name, 

Thy pureness sought. 

Code of the hidden world, by the Father blest. 
Light of the Throne of Grace, and sweet Mercy's crest, 
Balm of the dead who sleep in the Christian rest, 
Plan of the end, eternally God's behest, 

Bv Christ then tau2:ht. 



Rosebud 

To my Sweetheart : 

M> blooming, fragrant Rosebud fair, 
With sweetest face and brownest hair, 
And sparkling eyes, like melting dew, 
That shine w'ith soul, so tender, true. 

A kiss from thee were bliss indeed ; 
Sweet woman, thou art all I need 
To make my life a dream of love. 
With thou my fondest turtle dove. 

With th}^ dear face within my heart, 
I'll play, with ease, a giant's part ; 
Your love shall be my guiding star 
And keep away the faults that mar. 

With thee to bless my humble hearth, 
I'll be the monarch of the earth, 
And hand in hand, at God's command, 
We'll live and die on Freedom's strand. 



M eirriage 

Marriage is a state of bliss, 
Binding closely with its kiss. 
When the man and woman feel 
God has placed on them the seal ; 
Then the wedded pair have found 
Common cause on holy ground. 



Master Bub 

A song of roly poly vsing, 

A baby in the tub, 
O'er poly rol}^ suds now fling, 

A toddler loves a rub. 

The day is o'er, the time has come 
When eyes must clOvSe in sleep, 

Put by the toys and noisy drum 
And under covers creep. 

But first from off the satin skin 
Must come the ugly clay ; 

He ends the day of toil and din 
In tumbling in the spra3^ 

He splashes round, with merry shout, 
And throws the water high, 

Then wants to still keep up the rout. 
For rest he does not cry. 



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Home *^ ^ 

My worn and weary feet 
At nightfall turn to where my wife. 

My treasure rarely sweet, 
With lovely tots— the salt of life- 
Await the father's coming, 
With voices gladly humming 
A welcome home to father dear, 
And bid his soul be of good cheer, 

For thev are fond and true. 



Precious Sweetness 

Whom do I love with all my heart 
And sadly mourn when we're apart, 
Whose sweetest face will ever grace 
]\Iy inmost soul with fervent trace? 

My Rosebud. 

Into whose ear my tales of love 

For her, my fairest turtle dove, 

Would I the live-long day soft breathe 

And round her heart my love-chains wreathe? 

INIy Rosebud. 

Around whose waist would I fain place 
My arm in tenderest embrace, 
Whose lips would I in love then press 
And thrill her soul with sweet caress? 

My Rosebud's. 

Whose tired head would I oft rest 
Upon this shielding manly breast, 
And kiss the drooping eyelids there, 
Enframed within the curling hair? 

jNIy Rosebud's. 

Those lips that form a Cupid's bow 
Are all that I will care to know. 
The inspiration that I'll find 
Will closer wind your chains that bind, 

Sweet Rosebud. 

And you shall be my fairy queen. 
Your heart from care I'll alway screen. 
And love shall reign the live-long day, 
With you to keep the days all jMay, 

Sweet Rosebud. 



iVly Love 

My love is all in all to me 

Of all this world's sweet company, 

She loves the Father I have sought, 
Through mercy of the Savior, 
She loves the good that I have wrought, 
And longs to make for me a home 
From which Fll never want to roam — 

Sweet love. 

She is my hope, my love, my pride, 
And soon I hope to greet my bride 

At altar where the world doth stare 
Because they know no reason, 
And take my wife, my fondest care, 
To where the robins sing the birth 
Of just another humble hearth — 

Dear love. 

She dares the fight for honest ends. 
She knows the scorn that satan sends 

Through daring of the worldly tribe 

Of rash and heady mortals ; 
She knows no thought of sordid bribe 
To take away her sweetest charm 
That heals my wounds, her gracious balm 

Of love. 



And so I trust through dreary day, 
'Mid winter snow and dreamy May ; 
I love to dream of her sweet worth 

When dreary clouds breathe torture 
For God doth love the humble hearth 
And sends his blessings straight to win 
Our mortal souls from deadly sin — 

My love. 

I love your eyes, so full of love, 
With deepest brown, my darling dove, 
You are my treasure, true and rare, 

Where spirit shows the pleasure ; 
Thou art the one for whom I dare 
The stormy world and business care 
To seek the means for your rare fare — 

My dove. 

Then keep for me your inner heart, 
Where I shall dwell, afar, apart 

From those who seek but worldly good- 

The dross and gilt of "splendor," 
And vapid show and empty rood — 
They know no love but earthly cloys, 
No lovely girls, no sturdy boys — 

My wife. 



]V[y ^?Vlfe 

Thou lovely treasure of my heart, 

Thou heart of violet. 
Thou mortal kiss of heavenly part. 

Thou rose of goodness set 

Within my crown. 

Thou mother dear of daughters rare 
And martial sons of strength, 

Thou guardian of home, and fair 
Delight, whose praise at length 
I oft will sing. 

'Tis thy loved face within my frame 
That makes my life so sweet, 

'Tis thy dear voice that makes my fame 
Though hours be passing fleet 
With great renown. 

Thou woman dear who shares my lot, 
Thou fairest prize of Cupid, 

Thou golden lily in the plot 
Of life's Immortal King, 

Your praises ring. 

Across the strand away from night 
1 aim to guide your way, 

I want you in the Heavenly light, 
An angel in the day 

Of purest love. 



Thankisgiving 

Our Father, kindly grant, we pray, 
Our prayers a gracious place 
Within the Throne of Grace ; 

We gather round the Throne to-day 
With hearts overflowing praise, 
Our hymns to Thee we raise. 

From North to South, from Fast to West, 
Across the ocean wide 
Our Flag doth grace the tide ; 

A land of plenty. Thou has blest 
Our hands with heaping stores, 
Our love to Thee outpours. 

Give us, we pray, rare grace of heart 
To use the gifts aright, 
7^0 save the poor from blight; 

Give us, we pray, a soulful part 
In your grand plan of life, 
In Freedom's manful strife. 

And grant to us the mercy Thou 

Dost show the fallen one, 

The weak and erring son ; 
Teach us to humbly, bravely bow 

The head to Thy wise laws. 

For we are full of flaws. 

Grant peace and plenty. Father wise, 
To us this coming year. 
Preserve our land from fear ; 

We look to Thee with prayerful eyes, 
Our thanks, we ask, please take 
For Thv dear Son's sweet sake. 



Chiristmas 

Peal out, ye bells, with joyous ring, 
The manger held a child ; 

Ye choirs, chant, yea, sweetly sing, 
The Christ, with justice mild. 

Was born to cleanse away the stain 

That man had wrought for sordid gain. 

Give praise, ye people, to our God, 

Who gave the purest love 
Unto the sinful, wicked sod 

In sending down the dove 
Of Heavenly Love and Truth and Worth 
To purify the fallen earth. 

Amazed were e'en the wisest men 
To hear the wondrous words, 

He taught the way of things above. 
Of mansions in the sky, 

He showed how brothers should agree 

To reap the fruit of Life's good tree. 

Not only was he preacher true, 
But kept each wise command 

That God had given to prophets few 
Beneath His Royal Hand ; 

The Savior acted out the Word 

His worth He showed to all who heard. 

And on the cross — a frightful fate 

For one Who naught had done — 

He shed His Blood, nor could berate, 
He fought the fight and won ; 

" Forgive the deed,'' 'twas nobly said ; 

He cried aloud, His spirit fled. 



Now bring the children to your side 

And tell the tale anew, 
How Jesus walked upon the tide, 

Of His disciples few, 
And how was fed the mighty throng, 
And how to Him their prayers belong. 



Ttie Lifegi-iard's Home 

From purling brook to surging tide, 

From narrow stream to ocean wide, 
Is but a strip of mashy land, 
A dank and reeking bed of sand. 

Where stands the lifeguard's cabin home, 

The tie that him binds to the loam. 

Therein is found his loving wife, 
His helpmate through the stormy strife 
Of elements and drinking den 
To gain his clay and lucre when 
The storm is fierce upon the deep 
Or drinkers seek to make her weep. 

But from boon comrades he doth flee 
When to his thoughts come scenes of glee 
Where prattling lips greet father's ears 
And sweeter far the gladsome tears 
And loving arms and clinging kiss 
That tell how she her king would miss. 



Ivieuttenant Victor Blu^e 

It makes the blood flow free and fast 

Through human veins in torrid blast 
To hear the hero tell the tale 
Of gallant charge o'er hill, through dale, 

But braver far the man who goes 

To spy upon his country's foes, 

And faces hangman's noose. 

He puts away all selfish thought 
Of battlefields so dearly bought, 

Of honor, glory, fair renown 

And Freedom's grand acclaim and crown 
Unto the brave and daring soul 
Who leads the charge that wins the goal. 

And dares no hangman's noose. 

Too many greet with haughty scorn. 

Or gash the soul with wordy thorn. 

When told of spy who guided right 
Before the hot and winning fight ; 

To help his country win the day, 

He trod the silent, thorny ^vay, 

And braved the hangman's noose. 

Tis brave to fight through battle's thrall 

And suffer wounds from shell and ball, 

'Tis grand to show your courage where 
The bugles call with cheery blare — 

But who will brave his fate to win 

The plans that lead to conflict's din. 

And face the hangman's noose .^ 



A IVIother's Woe 



Dedicated to the Memory of Mj- Dear Friend 
Thomas Bolitho. 



"Tis mother's hand that guides the feet 
Ot tiny babe along the street 
That leads to man's upright estate 
Or woman's grandly lovely fate 

In happy home. 

The mother works from sun to sun, 
She knows the race that they must run 
To reach the shining heavenly goal, 
Afar from rock and deadly shoal 

In sinful world. 

She works and stints for their dear sake, 
She joys when they good progress make, 
And often when in peace they sleep 
Her mind is full of troubles deep 

In their affairs. 

Her loving touch and gentle grace 
Makes home a precious, soothing place, 
No matter how the world doth race, 
'Tis there we find dear mother's face 

And rare relief 

And when cold Death hath laid at rest 
The form she gathered at her breast, 
And her poor heart is torn with grief, 
No one but God can give relief 

Unto her w^oe. 



Each little toy and garment brings 
A gaping wound that sorely stings, 
Each thought of cunning ways and speech 
Renews again the awful breach 

That rends her heart. 

An aching void is in her heart 
When from her baby she must part, 
But bitter woe attends the shroud 
That wraps the form in clammy cloud 

In riper }-ears. 

And when the earth in heaping mound 
Hath shut away all earthly sound, 
Then back unto the daily grind 
With heart so sore, though friends be kind 

And dearly true. 

The world moves on, new duties fill 
Each passing hour, and nerves must thrill 
With pulsing life to meet the trend 
Of daily toil unto the end 

Of our life's span. 

I've seen the Reaper quickly slay 
The best of those within my day, 
The ones I loved and dearly prized, 
Whose loss hath stung until I cried 

In every thought. 

The way is long and dark and drear, 
The end is far. or maybe near. 
I strive along each weary day. 
And pray for mercy on my way — 

Thy will be done. 



Tine Poet 

I stir the strings of Fancy's harp 
With gentle touch, 
And with the sighing breeze 
A tinkling note of music rare 

Enchants my sense. 

J sway the tones of organ grand 
With master hand, 
And through the altar's aisles 
The grandest tones of earthly choirs 

Soothe me to rest. 

I strike the chords of feeling sharp 
And strong, and such 
A peal rings through the trees 
That bugles rouse to warlike cares 

And cost immense. 

I wake the tempest to command 
The trusted band 
To crush the serpent's wiles. 
And though 1 die amid the fires — 

'Tis His behest. 

And e'en I dare old satan's ken 
At Duty's must, 
Until, with fearful cries, 
They flee away from mortal hand — 

A snarling mess. 

I bid the lightning, with my pen. 
To strike the dust 
Aw-ay from mortal eyes; 
I brave the sword, at His demand, 

For righteousness. 



A Kriend 

Give me the man with a noble heart, 

A brother to us all; 

Show me the one with a Christian part, 

Who says, " 111 ne'er throw a cruel dart 

To make a struggler to sorel}' smart, 

Or g-enius cause to pall.*' 

Indeed is he, among men. a man 

The Father views with love: 
However wrong be the human ken, 
His tongue and pen will most sweetly then 
Uplift the wretch from the deadly den 

And grasp of legal glove. 

He is the oak of old Mother Earth, 

A loving, soothing tree; 

He visits poor at their humble hearth. 

He shows the light of the Savior's birth, 

And life has lost its delicious mirth 

When God bids him be free. 



The JVIothier of a Hero 

The Father's aid she earnestly had sought 
'Mid pain and struggles she so nobly fought, 
Till mother love a rich reward had brought — 
Her boy was first within the people's thought. 

Her woes are now^ repaid a hundred fold, 
Adown the years his worth will oft be told, 
And children fair will love the tale so bold, 
The deed won by the mother's heart of gold. 



To My Sweetheart 

Each sacrifice is sure to bring 
A blessing, sweet, to you, 

And love for Him, our Holy King, 
Makes duty shine anew. 

May all your struggles end in joy, 
May Jesus smile on thee, 

And happiness, without alloy, 
Your portion ever be. 



JMiss Buib 

Dancing lightly as a feather 

In the house or on the street, 

Tripping blithely o'er the heather, 
Dainty feet so slight and neat. 

In she peeps to see what father 
Doeth with his flying quill, 

Though she knows she must not bother, 
Yet her lively tongue's ne'er still. 

In her dreams she speaks of phases 

In the doings of the day, 
Then we hear the queerest phrases 

From the scenes of children's play. 



To My "Valentine: 

The roses of your peachy cheeks, 
Your eyes of velvet brown, 

Your golden hair and ruby lips 
Will win for me a crown — 

And hearts entwine. 

Your sprightly form and winsome ways 

And lovely graces, dear, 
Are precious themes to me, my love; 

I wish you always near, 

Mv Valentine. 



Temperance 

A loving wife, a happy home, 
From which no man will ever roam, 
Where singing childish prattle calls 
The father home whene'er night falls, 
That is a home, indeed. 

Old satan finds it hard to sow 
Discord within the firelight glow 
Where man and woman love the Lord 
And humbly seek His just reward 

By kindly word and deed. 

A vixen's tongue and slothful ways 
Will often drive to rum's vile craze, 
Though many fools need but a taunt 
To waste that which would keep from want 
Their trusting, needy seed. 



spring 

And soon the snow will vanish far 
Into the soil; then naught will mar 
The waking life of flow'rets bloom 
To chase away the winter gloom. 

The sun will spread its welcome beams 
Until all life with gladness seems 
To sing, and from the winter sleep 
The earth begins to quickly creep. 

In pealing strains the golden throats 
Of songsters greet, with tinkling notes, 
The glories of the springtime morn. 
When earth seems free from all her thorns. 



A Remembrance 

A little flower grew in the plot. 
It was a sweet forget-me-not. 
A mother's hand had placed it there, 
'Mid falling tears, with tend"rest care — 
Her boy lay cold beneath. 

He was the last, her little man. 
Who came to her in life's bright span. 
When love was bright the live-long day. 
And sunbeams made it seem all May, 

And hosts of friends were round. 



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